When it comes to synthesizers, anything analog or digital, any sound manipulation or design, any arrangement or sequencing, any knob twisting or the peculiar joy you find in it.
God stuff.
A kid’s sandbox.
All the GI Joe’s out in the dirt fortresses,
Buckets of fuckin Legos.
Lincoln logs propping up your personal erector set, coloring books with no fucking lines, just blank pages one after another, a typewriter with a pallet of ink ribbon, stepping out onto the field and knowing.
“no rules here”
You made up the sport, anything goes.
Harm none (if you can help it)
Forgive yourself if you mess up.
Beyond that?
No fucking laws.
No desire to trespass or infringe , no constant realignment with good vs evil, no spiritual guilt nor guidance, not rooted to this planet in the surface sense, not living for death.
Sharing with the animals.
Fellowship and perfect harmony.
No desire to kill anyone, I don’t even like being around them in the first place.
Be weary of a person claiming that God speaks through them,
I’d rather be hands anyway, keep your words, I’d rather dive into the devilsh detail of dexterity.
Minutiae.
Made for the minutia.
Minute maid minutia made.
My-new-sha
The nitty gritty, the tedious little details.
dawn 